Sense you all ?

Vulgarities of thought and tongue that bring no cream to sweat and pulse.

The torn shreds of dignity that leave refreshingly thoughtless talons of spite and sensual brutality mare me. The rythms of your wanton seed sow the rim of ladies that walk a night and sell more than the licking on manly shafts and the teasing of uprising members and aged decrepitude.

Scorching motel rooms advertise hourly service where sheets and bedbugs makeout in the messes of someone else’s sordid mistake. Love is the neon coloured poster of yesteryears, remembering the once felt feeling of connected morality and an unbridled urged to break away from it.

You pour out the liquid love of promiscuity. Giving in to temptations of living vomit and alcohol laced with a fist fucking ride of fulfilment and joy that the chorus of amens is heard a century away and through the thinest of paper dry walls.

Love being the weakness of fragile emotions scorned in a playground of playboys and readers wives. Back page illicit meet-ups in carparks and underbrush leeways littler the conscience and cripple the bed ridden sorrows of failure and premature emotional disfunction.

You can’t get it up and you call the local Huggy Bear to send on over the dish of the day.

He duly notes it on a tab of flesh best cured with a whip and the gargling screams in a background of sadism and filth.

You crouch for the pissing mouth open bike of an orifice, poppers and powders to sniff with a lashing for feeling the moments of luscious exhilaration and spasms of orgasmic destruction and corruption of something akin to a being.